


Escorting Ms. Stark

by Rumpabumbum



Series: 200 Follower Promptathon [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Escort Service, F/F, I apologize in advance, I don't see how this will possibly go well, escort!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpabumbum/pseuds/Rumpabumbum
Summary: She didn't ask for an escort. She didn't necessarily want an escort. So why do the words, "At your service, Ms. Stark," make her swoon?





	1. The Arrangement (Prologue)

Sansa had been so stressed lately. She deserved some fun. So why did this feel so wrong? It wasn’t like they were buying her a prostitute. Bran smacked himself in the face. That wasn’t the best phrasing. They weren’t…They didn’t…Thank the gods he wasn’t the one talking on the phone. He couldn’t find the proper thoughts in his head to describe this.

                “I know Ros, but just this one time,” Theon begged, using his puppy voice. The woman on the other end must have given in, because Theon pumped his fist. “You know you’re my favorite girl, don’t you? Who’ve you got?”

                Theon nodded his head in contemplation as the woman—Ros—apparently told him who was available.

                At the very least, Bran was relieved that Theon had the brains to use an escort service rather than a prostitution ring. If word got out about this, an escort agency would be easier for Robb and father to swipe aside than a prostitute.

                “No, no. She’s into women….Well I didn’t know you did men, I’ve never needed a man for a night.”

                Bran glanced at Arya. She was holed up, trying her hardest not to burst with giggles.  

                “No, too rough…Too flirty…Not flirty enough…” Theon’s rejection continued on.

                “How many women from this place have you paid to sleep with you?” Arya asked. Despite the blush on Theon’s cheeks, Bran felt it was a valid question.

                “What about that one girl, The Little Queen? How is she?” Theon asked. “Believe me, price is not a problem… Oh, she’ll love that. My girl is a bit shy though, at first…Excellent. One more thing, can we arrange to fly her to say, the Westerlands?...Yes, I know, we’ll cover it…Uh huh.” He gave Ros the card information.

                “I hope she doesn’t take this the wrong way,” Bran muttered. He had only been joking when he’d suggested an escort service. He should have pushed harder for the spa getaway. Once Theon and Arya grabbed hold of the idea though, there was no going back.

                Arya grinned mischievously. “We’re paying someone to flirt with her and possibly sleep with her. There’s no other way to take this, Bran. She better put our money to good use. I could have bought a used Harley with my share.”

                Theon hung up and spread his arms wide, as if welcoming glory upon himself. “It is done! Sansa will have a week in paradise with her own special play pal. That should be enough distraction from the terrible duo she’ll suffer with throughout the meetings.”

                As glad as he was that he didn’t have to deal with the business side of the family business, he pitied Sansa. As much as their father abhorred Sansa’s ex boyfriend, he needed to do business with Robert Baratheon. With Robb on his honeymoon, that left Sansa to do the CEO work, which included these business meetings. Which would be manned by Joffrey. No doubt Joffrey would show off his fiancé every chance he got. Then there was Petyr Baelish. Despite being 20 years older than Sansa, he leered at her as a teenager. Needless to say, it freaked her out. Mum had put an end to that non-sense, but she never liked Sansa having to be around the once family friend. Unfortunately, father’s latest venture required funding, and the easiest way to get it was through Baelish.

                Arya high fived Theon. She raised her hand up to meet Bran’s. He hesitated. He still wasn’t sure about this. Maybe they should at least tell Sansa beforehand.

                Impatient with Bran’s indecisiveness, Arya took his hand and raised it so she could slap it. No going back now. They were in this together.


	2. Day 1

She nearly had a panic attack reading Bran’s text. An escort. They had paid for her to have an escort at one of the most crucial business conventions for Stark Lumber Industries. There hadn’t been time to message back and demand an explanation. The flight attendant stood directly beside her, reminding her that phones needed to be turned to airplane mode. That left her 3 hours of flight time to stew on the fact that her brother and sister had paid for a prostitute for her.

                Stewing had done little to calm her nerves. How was she supposed to explain an escort? And what was this woman expecting? Sansa had never had a one night stand, let alone paid someone to sleep with her. She’d never considered and the idea turned her stomach.

                Her heart fluttered like the wings of a humming bird as she made her way off the plane. She checked her phone again. There was a message from a number she didn’t recognize.

“Waiting for you with a big sign. I’ll be hard to miss ;)” the message read. Tempted as she was to excuse it as a wrong number, Sansa had a gut feeling it was not.

                She rode the escalator down to the terminal to retrieve her bags. With a deep sigh, she took the plunge down the final escalator. Perhaps this woman would understand the prank her siblings had pulled and would be happy taking whatever money was owed and leaving.

                Her escort was indeed holding a large sign. It was nowhere near as cringe worthy as Sansa had feared. There was no massive arrow pointing directly at the woman reading, “Here’s your prostitute for the week, pre-paid and ready to get laid” with neon lights. It was simply Sansa’s name written ornately.

                Sansa bumped her way through the crowd, her bag dragging behind her and catching between people’s legs as they rushed past in a hurry to reach their gates. By the time she reached the woman with the sign her nerves and the physical exertion left her breathless.

                The woman gave her a sly smirk. She lowered the sign and stuck out her hand. “Ms. Stark, I presume.”

                “Yes, I…yes,” Sansa panted. She glanced down for a moment, only to double check that she had the right bags, and instead caught an eyeful of cleavage.

                Apparently she must have been staring, because the woman cleared her throat and murmured, “See something you like?”

                “I…I’m…” Sansa stuttered. The woman cut her off with a wink of her deep, big brown eyes. She carelessly ran her fingers through her thick brunette waves.

                “You can call me Marge, if you like, Ms. Stark,” she whispered as though it was a juicy secret she’d been dying to tell her since she walked off the plane.

                “Marge,” Sansa repeated.

                She jumped when Marge’s fingers brushed her own. She gently took one of Sansa’s bags out of her grasp. “Come along, Ms. Stark. The car should be back around by now.”

                Sansa nearly called out for her to wait, but thought better of it. Confronting this woman about her siblings’ proposition of her was not best suited for public discussion. It would have to wait.

                With her long legs and occasionally awkward height, Sansa rarely found someone who could out pace her while walking. Marge did just that. Her strut was runway worthy. She guided Sansa out of the airport and down the line of cars, cabs and limos until they reached a sleek all black sedan. Marge motioned to the driver to pop the trunk. With a quirky smile, she retrieved Sansa’s bag and opened the back door for her. She was at the back of the car before Sansa could thank her.

                She buckled herself in. Once Marge got in the driver turned the ignition and pulled into the slow moving line of cars exiting the airport.

                “So, Ms. Stark, tell me about yourself,” Marge batted her eyes. She must have noticed the way Sansa’s eyes flicked to the driver, because she leaned in close and murmured. “Don’t worry about Dickon. He’s from the company. All brawn, no ears. Of course, he’s not paid to listen.” She backed away a hair and her voice grew a notch louder. “I am though. I’m here for whatever you like.”

                “I’m sorry, but I believe there’s been a misunderstanding?” she finally said.

                “You are Sansa Stark, correct?” Marge asked. When had she slung her arm over the back of the seat and why did it look so seductive?

                Sansa nodded.

                “And did you receive a message from an associate of yours that I would be your ‘assistant’ for the week like I was informed you would?”

                Sansa nodded again.

                Marge's lips broke into a smirk. “Then sweetling, I don’t see what there is to misunderstand.”

                She’d rather have this conversation some place private, more so than the back of a car. “I didn’t know they ordered me a…” she drops her voice lower, regretting her choice of words thus far. “I didn’t know I was having an escort for the week.”

                Rather than the look of shock or embarrassment Sansa had expected, Marge simply shrugged. “I must admit it’s not a typical request. Usually when clients attempt these games, they’re lonely and unappealing. You, however, are an absolute treat.”

                The car stopped outside of the hotel which Sansa recognized as the one she had booked for the week.

                “Looks like we’ve arrived,” Marge winked. She wrapped her arms over the top of the head of the driver’s seat and whispered something to the driver. Dickon. Surely that was an escort name. Like Scarlet Angel. Or Hunky Howie.

                Evident that Marge was here to stay, at least until she had sorted out her siblings’ scam, Sansa got out of the car and grabbed her things from the trunk.

                As she pulled out the second bag, Marge playfully slapped her hand. “Ah, ah, Ms. Stark. This is one of my many talents as your “aide” for the week,” Marge emphasized the word, leaving all sorts of innuendo plain in her tone of voice. Despite her classy clothing, Marge picked up the bags and carried them to the hotel doors where a bellhop who had been distracted by his phone scrambled to find a luggage cart. He found one quick enough and Marge put it to use.

                The bellhop opened the hotel door for Sansa and her escort. Marge hung back while Sansa checked in and retrieved her key. The receptionist smiled politely and gave her the key to her room “for two”. Clearly Arya and Bran had updated her booking to coincide with their plan.

                They took the elevator to the penthouse. On the way up, Sansa stole glances at her escort. Her hair was a light brown with hints of blonde, as though it had been highlighted not so recently. It didn’t damage her appearance at all. She wore a mid thigh skirt, respectable heels, and a gorgeous blouse. Nothing trashy, but enough to tease the imagination.

                She must have noticed Sansa’s staring, because she gave her a flirty grin. “I must say, you are the most beautiful client I’ve had in ages. Believe me, I don’t say that to all my clients, but you…” Marge let the sentence hang in the air as she left the elevator once the doors opened.

                Sansa followed her to the room. She unlocked the door and opened it. “I’m not sure what exactly you were told, but…” Sansa’s words fell off.

                “I’m here for you, Ms. Stark. What are you so concerned about, hmm?” Marge bypassed the living room area of the suite to drop the bags in the bedroom.

                “I’m sorry. I’m nervous. Wasn’t expecting a pr- an escort,” If Marge heard her near slip of the tongue, she didn’t show it. Instead, she laid a stack of papers on the table.

                “Well, love, that’s why I came prepared. All the terms are laid out in the contract. Feel free to read,” Marge offered.

                Sansa leaned over the papers and braced herself on her arms as she skimmed the contracts. Marge’s hand rubbed her tense shoulders. She began summarizing the major points of the contract. “We’ll only go as far as you want. That means as little or as much as you decide, Ms. Stark. I will assist in any work related duties you require, as well as work a little over time.” Her fingers brushed across Sansa’s neck, sending chills down her spine. “If you decide you want sex, I have a couple ground rules. I initiate any kisses and not on the lips. No extremely violent kinks. And no, you cannot have my brother’s number.”

                Sansa raised her eyebrow at the last one.

                Marge shrugged. “You’d be surprised by how often I get asked that. Simple terms, all the way around. Do we have an agreement, Ms. Stark?”

                It went against every one of her moral inclinations. She’s always been a proper woman. No kissing on the first date, never had sex until she was out of the house for good. Yet she couldn’t find it in herself to say one simple word. She swallowed thickly and pulled out a pen. She signed the contract with a scribble of her name. “We do.”

                Marge clapped her hands together. “Excellent. I believe you have a dinner to attend Ms. Stark. Shall I be joining you?” She batted her beautiful brown eyes, almost making the temptation to agree once more unbearable. This time, however, Sansa stayed stronger in her convictions.

                “I’m afraid not. It’s a CEO-only dinner,” Sansa frowned.

                Her escort shrugged. The news hardly affected her. “Best get going, Ms. Stark. No need to freshen up. If you look any more gorgeous, you may blind some poor sap.”

                All the compliments had to be prepared and practiced on dozens of clients before her. Sansa blushed all the same.

                Dinner was an unfortunate and miserable affair. Arianne Martell’s flight was delayed and wouldn’t land until early morning, leaving Sansa to dine with only Joffrey Baratheon, Petyr Baelish, and Yara Greyjoy. She made pleasant enough conversation with Yara and even got into a discussion of a preliminary shipping arrangement between their two firms.

                Of course, that ended once Joffrey inserted himself into the talk. He redirected the topic to himself to brag about the profits Baratheon Stag Furnitures had seen in the past year. All the thanks went to his brilliant mind, and none at all to his uncles who prepared a new business plan, renegotiated contracts and worked to end the employees' strike that had occurred after Joffrey decided to cut pension plans.

                With everyone’s attention held hostage, he chose to bring up his past with Sansa. Specifically every embarrassing moment from their stint in a relationship. Anything that made her look stupid was fair game.

                She didn’t appreciate Petyr’s attempts to defend her. His gaze made her feel uncomfortable. It was evident he was staring a good foot below her face. As they brought the entrees out, he mentioned that she was as radiant as her mother had been when they’d had a fling. All this she had heard him mention before. It was another reminder of why she had dreaded attending this convention.

                By the time she made her way back to her hotel room she was tired, irritated, and in desperate need of “me” time. She thoughtlessly unlocked the door and kicked off her shoes, keeping her eyes down. Shower. She needed a long, hot shower. She reached back and unzipped her dress halfway down her back. It wasn’t until she finally looked up that she remembered she wasn’t alone.

                Her escort was laid on the couch, head resting on the arm of the couch watching her. Her smirk eyes lit up dark intentions. Sansa jumped backward, tripping back over her discarded heels and fortunately caught herself against the door.

                “It’s a bit too soon to be falling head over heels, isn’t it?” Marge pushed herself to stand up.

                Sansa’s brain must have short-circuited. Surely this woman wasn’t lounging about in a skimpy green dress with a plunging neckline that low. It covered her navel, but left little else to the imagination. Her abdomen clenched and her chest tightened. She was staring longer than decency dictated and couldn’t draw her eyes back up.

                Somehow Marge had closed the gap. One second she was sauntering over, the next she was tracing her index finger down the strap of Sansa’s gown. “If we move this soiree to the bedroom, I promise there will be a softer landing.”

                “N-no thank you,” Sansa stammered.

                Marge tilted her head.

                “I’m pretty tired,” Sansa excused herself.

                “If I’m coming on too strong, you can say so,” Marge stepped back. She didn’t look upset. “I’m only teasing. We can do whatever you’d like. I give good shoulder massages.”

                Tempting as the offer was, that wasn’t what Sansa wanted. “Can we just…cuddle and talk.” The words sounded more childish coming out of her mouth than they did in her head.

                “Cuddle and talk?” Marge repeated, her smirk turning into a full grin. Redoubling her confidence, Sansa nodded.

                “As you wish, Ms. Stark,” Marge winked.

                “I’m just going to change, okay. You can, um, make yourself more comfortable as well,” she averted her eyes from Marge’s playful gaze and darted to the bedroom to grab her things to wind down the night.

                She took the bathroom and cleaned make up off her face. She cringed at the small red bump revealed on her forehead. There was no point in covering it, not for five days. Besides, she doubted her escort would say anything. Still, her hand shook from nervous energy as she dabbed make up remover on her mascara laden eyes. Even though she had made it clear that she didn’t want to move in a sexual direction yet, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

                It didn’t help that Sansa found herself almost unable to resist the charms of this insanely gorgeous woman. Had she met her under different circumstances, she would have been inclined to let Marge have her way. Work had drained her social life lately. There was little opportunity for her to meet someone new. Marge would have been her delight.

                Paying a woman to be with her voided that interest. She wanted to be with someone who wanted her, not the money that came with her. Marge hadn’t acted like a gold digger. From their limited interaction, she seemed sweet and genuine, even if she did tease. Nevertheless, she wasn’t truly here for Sansa. That was enough to cool Sansa’s desires. At least enough for tonight.

                Sansa finished changing out of her dress and pulled on her fuzzy pink pajama pants and matching night shirt. When she’d packed these, she’d gone for weather appropriate. If she had known she’d have company for the night, she would have opted for something a little less middle school and a little more sex icon.

                All the lights in the suite were out when she left the bathroom, except the one in the master bedroom. Sansa followed the light in. She dropped her dress by her suitcase against the front wall and turned to get in the bed.

                Every justification she had thought of for not taking advantage of the opportunity having an escort granted her evacuated her mind when she saw Marge laying on her back in the middle of the bed, wearing nothing except a thin golden silk slip that barely covered the top of her thighs. She followed the curve of her thighs up to the her tits. Why was she making this so difficult?

                After a moment of staring, Marge braced herself up on her elbows. “It’s going to be difficult to cuddle with you standing there.”

                Sansa shook herself out of her daze and climbed into the bed. Marge scooted over, giving Sansa space to get in. She could do this. They were just going to chat. Nothing more.

                She situated herself on her side, and Marge did the same so that they faced each other. It didn’t pass Sansa’s mind that the slip dipped and if she were to simply glance down, she’d catch an eyeful of cleavage doing its best to entice her.

                “Sorry if my outfit makes you uncomfortable. Typically I don’t get to sleep in clothes. Otherwise I would have joined in the pajama party. Those are some really cute pants, by the way.” Marge propped her head against her hand.

                “Don’t. I think it’s safe to say that these circumstances caught us both off guard.”

                Marge reached out and touched Sansa’s arm. “What did you want to discuss, Ms. Stark?”

                “Just…how was your day?” she asked, at a loss for what else to say.

                “Marvelous. I met this beautiful woman and she whisked me away to her fancy hotel room. Then she left me for a bit, but the room service was fantastic,” Marge scooted closer.

                “Oh gods, I didn’t even think of that. I’m sorry. Please tell me you put the room service on the tab for the room,” Sansa felt the blush creep up her chest.

                Marge waved her off. “Don’t worry about it, love. The agency will compensate me for it. It was delicious though. How about you? How was dinner with the big shots?”

                Sansa sighed and rolled on to her back, staring at the ceiling. “Painful as always.”

                Marge took the opportunity to snuggle against her side, nuzzling against her neck. It felt nice to have someone to talk to this late at night without feeling like a burden for disrupting them. “Tell me about it, sweetling.”

                Sansa tilted her head to the side and stared at the woman holding her. She could almost foresee something between them, pretend there was something more.

                “Joffrey was an arsehole. Made me sound like a complete idiot in front of everyone. For someone who says I’m the worst mistake he ever made, he brings up our relationship often. Then Petyr had to chime in. My mum told me he had a massive crush on her when she was in high school. The way he looks at me, it’s like I belong to him. It’s disgusting. What kind of lecher gets a thing for his crush’s daughter? I swear if he tries to touch me, I’m having him arrested for sexual harassment.”

                Marge huffed against her chest. Sansa didn’t notice that she had begun drawing soothing circles on Marge’s back. “I’m sorry you have to experience that. Men in power think the world belongs to them. How long has this been going on?”

                Sansa snorted. “Years. It’s easier when someone else from my family is with me. They’re more cautious then.”

                “You’re very close with your family, aren’t you?” Marge asked.

                Sansa nodded, her fingers drifting up from Marge’s back to her shoulder. “We all live close to home, so we still see each other weekly. Robb’s been on his honeymoon, so the last few weeks he hasn’t been around as much. My younger siblings can be a mess to keep up with, but I love them. Arya and Rickon always find ways to cause trouble, but they all have good heads on them. Bran has really matured in the past couple of years. He had an accident when we were kids that robbed him of the use of his legs. I think he resented us for a while because of it. He’s so brave. Probably the bravest of all of us. Arya has a way of getting under my skin. When we were little, she knew exactly how to press my buttons to send me over the edge. But she’s always there when I need her. And she doesn’t judge. Rickon just graduated high school. He’s learning how to be a mechanic….”

                She went on and on about her siblings and told a few tales about some childhood adventures. As she went on and on, Marge laid against her, laughing, asking questions. It was only out of happenstance that Sansa looked over to the clock and realized it was nearly midnight.

                “Oh, wow, it’s late,” she yawned instinctively. “We have brunch tomorrow with some investors.” The ‘we’ came so naturally, Sansa didn’t notice it.

                Marge turned her head so that her chin rested on Sansa’s chest, her eyes meeting Sansa’s. “Okay. How do you want to work this?”

                “I was thinking we could sleep like this. Or maybe, I could spoon you?” Sansa admitted.

                Marge smiled sweetly and bit her lip as she nodded. “Of course.”

                She rolled out of the bed to turn out the light. Sansa set her alarm, though she believed she wouldn’t need it. Going to bed at this hour still afforded her body clock to wake up her up before an alarm was necessary.

                Sansa shimmied under the sheets. Marge did the same, scooting back to the middle of the bed. Sansa scooted forward a little. She wasn’t sure what to do with her arms. Cuddling may have been her idea, but she hadn’t thought as far as executing it.

                With an adorable giggle, Marge grabbed Sansa’s arm and placed it over her stomach.

                “You’re something else, you know. Goodnight, Ms. Stark.” Marge murmured.

                “Goodnight,” Sansa whispered. For the first time in a long time, it was.

 


	3. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So lots of things happen here. It's so much longer than what I'm used to writing for chapters and it's probably awful, but I've been working on this for a month and I'm tired of looking at it.

Warm sunlight kissed her cheek. It was too early. Sansa didn’t need to see a clock to know that she still had another hour of sleep left before she had to get up. In the early morning haze, she couldn’t remember where she was or what she was there for, but she knew it was important. Not important enough to wake up yet though.

                She snuggled deeper into the pillows that were too soft to be her own and nuzzled the sturdy object beside her. She pressed her palm into something soft. It reminded her of her delicious dream. She had been making out with a gorgeous brunette who had been eager to let Sansa do as she pleased. Yet what Sansa had wanted was for her dream girl to take control. She flexed her hand against the round softness in her hand, imitating the way she had wanted to touch the woman in her dreams.

                A low moan responded, startling Sansa into stillness. The memories of the previous day flooded her brain. Marge. She had been feeling up Marge in her sleep. Sansa jerked her hand back and scrambled to the far edge of the bed.

                Marge sighed and rolled over onto her side. She was still bleary eyed and her hair was mostly flipped to one side, looking fluffier than it had yesterday. Somehow it made Marge all the more adorable. Her arms were folded underneath her head as she smirked at Sansa. “Goodmorning, Ms. Stark. Good dreams?”

                Sansa blushed. “I’m sorry if I woke you up. And I didn’t mean to cop a feel, I swear.”

                Marge scooted a little closer. “Don’t worry about that, love. Don’t worry about any of it. You can touch all you like. I don’t mind.” She grabbed Sansa’s hand and pressed it to her chest.

The base of her palm was against the black lace, but the rest of her hand was on skin. Despite the clear invitation, Sansa hesitated. She glanced up to meet Marge’s warm brown eyes giving her encouragement to make a move.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to act on it. She pulled her hand back and pushed herself out of bed. “We need to get started. Long day. I need to shower, and gather the files we have on Dornish textiles, and- ah shit I forgot to review the contract Petyr sent.” Sansa swung her head toward the alarm clock. “If I forego a few things, I might have enough time.”

Marge walked to the closet and took out one of the complimentary hotel robes. “Relax Ms. Stark. You shower, I’ll read this contract of yours and take notes. And I reorganized your files last night. All alphabetical, in name, subcategorized by topic.” Marge looked down as she tied the robe around herself.

When she looked back up, Sansa could only blink at her. Of course, she smirked back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I had to find something to do while you were at your soiree. Organizing is just a talent of mine.” Margaery shooed her on. “Now hurry up before we’re time crunched to need to shower together. Unless, that’s what you want of course.”

Sansa scurried to the shower without another word. She was in and out in under ten minutes. Her eyes scanned the vanity for her blow dryer until she remembered that it was still in her suit case. In the bedroom, across the suite, where Marge was undoubtedly reading the contract.

There wasn’t another choice. Sansa wrapped a towel around herself and prayed that she wouldn’t trip on her way to the room. With Marge’s head ducked down to read, Sansa made it to the room without drawing any attention. She dug through her bag, picked out a dress for the day and found her hair dryer.

As she made her way back across the suite, she noticed Marge’s eyes peering through her peripheral vision, though she never turned her head away from the contract in front of her. Sansa doubted she would have that much self-control if their positions had been reversed.

After dressing and drying her hair, she hurried out to check on her assistant. She was no longer reading over the contract, but a couple of pieces of paper with near perfect handwriting sat beside the stack of a contract. Marge returned with shampoo bottles and the dress she intended to wear.         “Is it safe to hop in?”

“Actually, I need to do my make up,” Sansa said, but her escort was already strutting toward the bathroom.

“That’s fine. I don’t mind,” she left the door open behind her and ran the shower.

Sansa checked the time. There isn’t enough for her to wait on Marge to finish and do her make up and still get her own done while still being able to do a last minute run through her notes.

“I won’t be able to see myself in the mirror once it fogs up,” Sansa called before entering the bathroom.

Marge poked her head around the shower curtain, her hair tied into a tight bun. “It won’t fog. I’m taking a cool shower.” She ducked behind the curtain again, leaving Sansa to do her make-up.

She had applied her foundation and lipstick and had moved on to her mascara by the time Marge started humming a tune. Sansa’s neck twitched to the left involuntarily. She shouldn’t have. The curtains were thin enough that Sansa could see almost everything. Margaery turned her back to the shower head. Beads of black shadows bounced off her silhouette. Her arm reached down to her lower back, pushing her chest out so that Sansa could see the outline of Margaery’s nipples standing at attention thanks to the cold water.

Sansa snapped her neck back in embarrassment for ogling the woman. Unfortunately her hand didn’t move with the same reflex as her head, resulting in poking herself in the eye with her mascara brush.

“Ow! Freakin-!” Sansa dropped the brush and grabbed at her eye, holding it as the sting settled in.

The shower head squeaked off. “Ms. Stark? Are you alright?” Marge asked. Her wet feet slapped against the tile floor as she exited the shower.

“Fine! I’m fine!” Sansa shouted. She kept her head down. If she dared look up, she knew her eyes would betray her. Unfortunately, Marge didn’t have the same reservations. She grabbed Sansa by the chin and tilted her head up. Sansa averted her eyes to the ceiling to maintain modesty, well aware that Marge was dripping water all over the floor without a towel.

Marge ducked her head down to get a better look. “Doesn’t look like you did any damage.” She released Sansa’s chin and grabbed the towel off the hook. Once it was wrapped around her body, Sansa felt her muscles sag in relief.

They were down in the lobby twenty minutes later, walking out the doors to the limo which Dickon held the door of open. Marge followed Sansa into the backseat. Dickon shut the door behind her.

Margaery buckled her seat belt and patted the stack of notes on her lap. “Which investors are we wining and dining this morning?”

“No wining,” Sansa corrected. “Petyr Baelish will be there, as well as some men from the Iron Bank and Cerwyn Banking. Arianne Martell may also be there, if she wasn’t out partying the moment her plane landed.”

“Don’t invest in that,” Margaery muttered under her breath, cracking a small smile.

Sansa crooked a brow. “Excuse me?”

Marge shrugged. “When was the last time you read a gossip magazine. All Arianne Martell supposedly does now is drink and dance. Will it just be her?”

Sansa pulled out her phone and double checked the email her father had sent her of the other primary business contacts. “Either Nymeria Sand or Aro will be accompanying her.” She slipped her phone back into her purse.

They sat in silence until Dickon reached the parking lot of the restaurant.

“Marge?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, Ms. Stark,” Marge replied, uncrossing her legs.

“Please don’t draw attention to yourself. At all. Today has to go perfectly and I don’t need you distracting a potential business partner. Or me. Just pass out the papers when I ask,” she instructed.

Margaery’s face darkened, but she held herself in check. “Yes, Ms. Stark.”

By the end of brunch, Sansa’s mind was racing with ideas for the evening’s presentation. Arianne Martell had shown up wearing pair of dark sunglasses and complaining that it was too bright outside. Nevertheless, she was impressed with the strides in Stark Lumber and told Sansa that Sunspear Textiles was ready to renew their contract as well as expand their partnership into other fields of business.

The chief representative of the Iron Bank was also pleased with the Stark’s revenue growth and had an offer for investment he wanted to discuss tomorrow after considering her presentation. She knew Littlefinger would be interested regardless. With an assistant present, he was less lascivious than usual. He kept his discussion centered on business, which was a welcome change from his most recent behavior toward her.

On her behalf, Marge followed Sansa’s instructions to a tee. She kept quiet, read notes, typed messages on her phone. Of course one of the Cerwyn’s had to comment on Marge’s appearance. A glare and a not-so-subtle backhanded insult shut him up fast enough.

“I’m looking forward to your presentation this afternoon, Ms. Stark. The Iron Bank has high hopes for your business. If all goes well, expect an investment proposal tomorrow,” said the man from the Iron Bank.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Sansa shook his hand and watched him walk away.

She turned to tell Marge they needed to leave so she could regather her thoughts. And give herself a patented Sansa Stark pep talk before the bile in the back of her throat came up.

She hadn’t expected Petyr to be standing right behind her and nearly walked into him. She wasn’t close to stumbling into him, but nevertheless he caught her by the shoulders.

“Careful Sansa,” he smirked. His hands lingered too long. He finally moved them when Sansa shrugged her shoulders.

“Mr. Baelish. I thought you’d be on your way by now. You don’t want to keep Yara Greyjoy waiting,” Sansa stepped around him and went to the table. Marge wasn’t there, but her purse was, so she had enough of an excuse. Except Petyr followed her.

“Ms. Greyjoy is notoriously late for her meetings. Should she be on time for once, she’ll learn the misery of waiting. I, on the other hand, am a patient man. I’ve been waiting all morning for a moment of your time,” he crooned, following her as she went the other way to leave.

“You’ve had multiple moments of my time this morning Petyr. You and every other investor we ate with. And I recall I have a meeting with you the day after tomorrow.” She replied. She smiled politely at the host who opened the door for her as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Just a moment, Sansa. That’s all. Or if you’re too busy, I can ask your new assistant why she looks so familiar,” Petyr stopped behind her.

Sansa halted and turned back. “My assistant?”

“Yes. She must be fairly new to the company. I don’t remember you ever having an assistant before. Nor do I recall seeing a room reserved for one on the guest list of the hotel,” Petyr smiled.

She was going to have an in depth discussion with the hotel manager about sharing private room information with other guests, but that wasn’t the focus of her mind at the moment. “Yes, she is new. Hired just for the convention to help me remain organized. You know how difficult running a business from afar can be.”

Appealing to his ego worked. Baelish prided himself in the methodical dictation of his company. “Of course. Glad to see that you’ve picked up a few tips from me. Between us, I doubt your father would have even considered anyone outside of your family for a janitor, let alone an assistant to the Vice President.”

She hated that he continued to bring up her father. Ned may be the president but her work was not contingent on her father. Everything she had she made sure she earned. “My father doesn’t take part in my business affairs, Mr. Baelish. He knows he doesn’t need to.”

“Ms. Stark. There you are. The driver has waiting for several minutes. I do hope I’m not interrupting, but your next appointment is soon,” Marge strutted up to her side.

Sansa glanced to her and nodded. “You haven’t interrupted anything. As you can see Mr. Baelish, I’m a busy woman. We’ll have to finish this chat another time.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Marge followed her to the car and opened the door for her before sliding in as well.

“Thank you. He can be a hassle,” Sansa sighed.

“Of course, Ms. Stark,” Marge said. A stack of notes dropped on Sansa’s lap. “I highlighted the major sections you discuss in your presentation with notes in the margin. The green is counterpoints your audience may raise. The pink is evidence to further defend your points.”

The stack was at least thirty pages thick, every page either highlighted at some part or annotated. Sansa flipped through the stack, reading Marge’s pretty cursive handwriting. “You did all that? Are you sure you annotated the right sections? The business plans can be complicated and-”

“You can proof them all you like Ms. Stark, but I promise you your general manager wouldn’t have been as sharp as me,” Margaery smirked.

The perfectionist mentality in Sansa goaded her into double checking her work. After the first five pages, she couldn’t deny the meticulous detail in Margaery’s work. It was as though she had been working for her for months, not a day.

She straightened the stack in her lap as the car came to a stop. “Nice work, Marge. It’s very impressive.”

Marge pursed her lips and shrugged. “I did want to prove that I’m more than just a distraction,” she mocked.

She opened the door and stepped out of the car before Sansa could respond. If she even had a response. She was ashamed for her earlier words, not realizing how the woman would feel about them. “Marge, I’m-“ she began her apology as she slid out of the car.

A throng of executives marched toward Sansa, preventing her from finishing her apology.

“Stark, where have you been? Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Your presentation starts in five minutes,” Yara barked from the head of the group.

“I was supposed to present at three,” Sansa dug through her bag and found her phone. She had four missed calls and several unanswered texts.

“The schedule was rearranged. Joffrey wasn’t feeling well enough to do his morning presentation, but he’s better now. They bumped the schedule up to fit him at the end,” explained one of the Martell executives.

“Sick my ass. That primped man whore was partying the whole night. He’s a bit of a screamer too,” Yara snorted. Sansa raised an eyebrow. “His suite is down the hall from mine. Dumbass doesn’t know how to properly close a door.”

A hand started pushing her along. “Come along, Ms. Stark, we’ll be late.” One of the CEO’s she didn’t know spoke as though she was a child. She swatted at his hand, but by then everyone had swarmed her to encourage her or advise or ask what the company planned on increasing their ties with. All the people and all the voices caused her to lose track of her assistant and her notes.

The moment she stepped into the conference room her entourage had led her to, they dispersed. In the span of three seconds she was left alone at the end of a long table while all the other CEO’s and investors took their seats. Not a smile in the crowd. Instead, she found Petyr walking in a moment late, attempting to meld into the wall as if he could pretend he wasn’t there. The Iron Bank investors, whose eyes looked near lifeless now as opposed to during the meal they had just shared together. And Joffrey, smiling smugly at her, eyes dancing in the realization that Sansa hadn’t been prepared.

“I,” Sansa cleared her throat and stood straighter, just as her Septa had always reminded her during her public speaking lessons. “Good afternoon. I’m honored to stand before a host of such revered men and women as yourselves in our various industries. Stark Lumber considers each of the companies represented in this room vital to its ongoing success and growth. Though we have made great strides in our economic base, we believe there is room for innovation and expansion. Greater sustainability. Long term business relationships. A high rate of return for investment. That is what Stark Lumber has to offer today.”

Sansa took a breath, pleased with her opening statement. Her audience appeared impressed as well, except for…  
                “Can you shut your trap and just give us the numbers?” Joffrey yawned. “We’re here for money, not your dull voice.”

“Of course,” Sansa muttered. She instinctively reached to the ground for her bag, which would normally have held the papers she needed to read over for the exact numbers and the pamphlets she’d spent hours working on to pass out. There was nothing to grab.

“Uhm,” she hesitated. Her neck felt hot all of the sudden, each breath of air thicker to inhale. She focused on her hands because she could feel the slight tremor of nerves that had plagued her in high school. “Let’s see I-“

The door squeaked open. Every neck in the room snapped at the intrusion. Sansa let out the sigh she’d been holding in, thankful for a moment to think through her predicament. Fortunately, much thinking wasn’t required. Marge poked her head in and scanned the crowd. She smiled when she met Sansa’s eyes. The smile faltered for a split second, only to hold firmer when she saw the panic Sansa was masking.

“My apologies Ms. Stark. Mr. Reed’s call was longer than anticipated. You know how difficult the man can be when he has a new idea,” her escort strutted across the room and placed the stack of papers into Sansa’s hands. Marge’s fingers deliberately brushed Sansa’s to offer encouragement.

At the top of the stack was a chart of Stark Lumber’s quarterly financial growth. Sansa grinned to herself and set the stack down. “Thank you. Marge please pass around the pamphlets from the bottom of the file. It will be far easier for you all to follow along with a visual aid,” she turned to the crowd. They looked just as intimidating and blank as before, but now she was in her element. She had a plan.

Marge passed out the pamphlets and Sansa continued her presentation. The rest ran smoothly. She answered questions with ease, Marge occasionally passed a note she had written to remind her of miniscule points which piqued the interests of a small business chair manufacturer and the Iron Bank Investors.

Afterward most of the attendees congratulated her and a few asked her to schedule individual meetings. A near disaster turned into a thrilling success. By the time she finished scheduling a meeting with Yara’s assistant, the crowd had dwindled away for the next presentation in another nearby conference room.

Sansa twisted around to find and thank Marge for saving her ass. She was right where Sansa thought she’d be, stacking the papers back into a neat file. However, Joffrey was hovering her in a way that made Sansa’s gut churn. His hand rested on her hip as he bent down and whispered something to her.

Marge stood up and turned toward him. She smiled as sweetly as she did with Sansa. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lannister, but I don’t think that would be appropriate,” Marge announced too loudly to be incidental conversation. “I have work to finish for Ms. Stark this evening.”

Joffrey pressed himself closer to her, his head dipping a little lower. Sansa would be damned if she let Joffrey get away with harassing one of her own employees-- er escorts-- whatever Marge was.

“Joffrey!” Sansa beckoned his attention. Joffrey lurched off Marge. “What did you think of the presentation?”

Joffrey snorted. “You mean that 6th grade show and tell? Flayed Wood’s growth and aesthetics were far more impressive than the shit you and your daddy piled together. Unfortunately my stupid uncles are enamored with your backwoods company. You finally did something right with the pretty piece of assistant you hired.” Joffrey smirked at Marge.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Lucky you, it seems Stark Lumber may have enough options to drop Baratheon Stag Furnitures from our clientele. We’re looking to work with growing companies. From what I’ve heard, you’re looking to take the company in a different direction. Such a pity.”

Joffrey’s face paled. “Lies and rumors. Stag Baratheon has never looked better.”

“According to the memo in your briefcase, that sexual harassment suit will hinder your progress. Unless you meant that the lawsuit is an improvement. Would that be an improvement Ms. Stark?” Marge asked coyly. “You know how new I am to this world of business.”

Joffrey’s jaw dropped. He glanced between a smirking Marge and an impressed Sansa. Finally he stormed out, grabbing his coat in haste.

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows at Marge. “Sexual harassment?”

“The memo was a guess. In my line of work, people love to tell you things they wouldn’t tell anyone else,” Marge winked. She grabbed Sansa’s bag and tapped her bum. “We still have a long day before us, Ms. Stark.”

“That was highly inappropriate Marge,” Sansa used her sternest boss voice.

“My apologies Ms. Stark. Perhaps you should punish me later,” Marge wriggled her hips as she walked. Sansa bit back a groan as she followed Marge to the next series of meetings and presentations.

Following her last meeting with a small scale construction company, Arianne Martell invited Sansa to her hotel bar for drinks with some other CEOs. Desperate to relax and have a few drinks herself, Sansa accepted without a second thought.

“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Stark,” Marge traded Sansa’s bag for the file in her hands as Arianne walked away.

Sansa’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

“I have work to complete for you Ms. Stark. Wouldn’t want your fun to cause me distraction,” Marge threw back Sansa’s words from earlier.

“Look, I’m sorry okay. I was nervous and stressed this morning and I should have handled brunch better. I just—I can’t relax, and I want to just sit back and not think about work or Joffrey or Petyr or es—. I want to go get drinks.” Sansa corrected herself.

“As you should. I will handle everything else. You deserve a break. Drink, dance, relax. I’ll instruct Dickon to pick you up later. The Lexicon, correct?” Marge tapped away at her phone.

Sansa nodded. “I really am sorry about this morning. And for what it’s worth, youre an amazing assistant.”

“Why thank you, Ms. Stark,” Marge brushed Sansa’s hair back behind her shoulder. “Have some fun. Everyone needs a little fun every now and then.”

She slipped past Sansa, turning back a final time to smile and wave goodbye. Sansa waved back and sighed.

Two hours later, she was regretting her decision to join drinking night. It wasn’t a particularly bad night. It was just…not as relaxing as she’d thought it would be. Yara and Arianne grilled her about her new assistant. Yara went as far as to ask if the woman was interested in other women. Sansa’s scowl backed her down from that train of thought.

She wasn’t sure why she felt so possessive or Marge. They barely knew each other. Yet, every time someone made a comment about her appearance or joked about hooking up with her, Sansa’s chest bubbled with anger.

“Are you alright Sansa? You’ve barely spoken in the last three shots. So that’s at least fifteen minutes,” Yara asked.

Sansa looked up from her drink and blinked at Yara. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just tired. I think I should go back to the hotel and get some sleep,” she handed her card to the bartender to pay her tab.

Outside, Dickon was sleeping behind the wheel of the limo. Sansa tapped on the window. Dickon jolted from his sleep. He looked around wildly until he regained himself. He got out of the car and opened the backdoor for Sansa. “My apologies Sansa. I mean Ms. Stark.”

“It’s alright, Dickon. You can call me Sansa,” Sansa slid into the seat. Dickon shut the door and returned to the driver’s seat. “You were more than welcome to come in if you wanted.”

Dickon smiled at Sansa through the driver’s mirror. “I was fine Ms. Stark. I’ve only been here for fifteen minutes.”

Sansa sat back as Dickon weaved out of the parking lot and onto the road. They chatted about Sansa’s day while he drove. The trip was over quicker than Sansa had expected.

“Marge asked me to ask you to knock when you get to the penthouse and she’ll let you in,” Dickon said as he let Sansa out.

“Okay? Did she say why?”

Dickon smiled and shrugged.

The strange interaction left Sansa intrigued about what Marge had been planning. She’d said there was work she needed to finish, but Sansa knew she hadn’t left Marge anything to do. On the elevator she cringed at the thought that she had set up some sort of unwanted orgy, earning herself a sympathetic look from the man getting off the floor below her.

Despite her reservations, Sansa followed Dickon’s instructions. She knocked on the door and listened to Marge scuffling on the other side.

The door  opened slowly, unveiling Marge in a loose fitting white v-neck and black yoga pants, her hair woven into a neat braid. She smiled and leaned on the door, gently pushing it further open. “Welcome back Ms. Stark. I hope you’re prepared for a night of relaxation.” She made a sweeping gesture once the door was all the way open. Sansa’s jaw dropped slightly at the rearrangement of the living room.

The furniture had all been pushed aside, replaced by a long padded masseuse table covered in rose petals with some scattered on the floor around it. The lights were dimmed and a strong, mouthwatering vanilla and rose scent permeated the room.

“Marge, what is all this?” Sansa stepped into the room, slowly rotating to take it all in. Marge shut the door behind her.

“This is the night you deserve. You’re entirely too stressed Ms. Stark. While I think you perform admirably under pressure, I also believe it’s self-induced. Well, most of it. When was the last time you had a good massage, hmm?” Marge stepped back in front of her.

“Marge, lovely as this thought was, I’m entirely too tired for this,” Sansa excused. It wasn’t because she didn’t want a massage. Gods knew she could use one. But with Marge, all she could think of was her hands wandering across her body, massaging places Sansa would be embarrassed to admit to.

“Then it’s a perfect time or this. What better way to fall asleep than with your muscles completely tense-free?” Marge handed her a towel. “I’ll only touch you where you want me to. Please, Ms. Stark, let me do something nice for you.”

Her voice was so sweet and innocent, how could she say no? Sansa nodded and took the towel. “So I wrap myself in this, and then you do your thing?”

“Yes ma’am” Marge headed toward the bathroom. “Call for me when you’re ready.”

Sansa slowly stripped off her clothes. Whatever relaxation Marge had envisioned was miles from what Sansa felt. Marge would be touching her. Deep, intimate touches. With a gorgeous woman she knew nothing about. She hesitated as she wrapped the towel around her waist. She remembered Marge’s kind smiles, her patience, her work this afternoon. Even if it was just her job, Marge considered the endeavor personal as well. The knowledge that Marge had some sort of care for her was enough to put Sansa to ease enough to climb on the table and lay down her stomach.

“I’m ready,” she called out. She turned her head and watched Marge come back with a bottle of oil in one hand and lotion in the other.

“Do you know what you’d like Ms. Stark?” Marge asked.

“Star with the shoulders,” Sansa told her. She turned her head to look straight down through the head hole of the table.

A moment later a warm layer of oil drizzled across her shoulder blade. Marge’s hands pressed against Sansa’s shoulders and slowly rubbed.

“You made a wonderful presentation this afternoon Ms. Stark. I never knew how much money the lumber industry generated for the country as a whole. Particularly I was impressed with the way you broke down the net gains and losses from the last three quarters. Even that dim wit from the furniture company understood you,” Marge’s words sounded like a smooth, rich chocolate to Sansa. Marge rubbed Sansa’s shoulders a little harder, pushing against the knot in her muscles just beneath her neck.

Sansa moaned. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for this morning. I was rude to you and that’s unexcusable. You’ve been a wonderful assistant and deserved far better.”

“Don’t worry about that, Ms. Stark. I’ve had far worse,” Marge laughed. “I understand. What’s rude is when a man kicks you out of his bed because you take too much space in a king size and then refuses to pay you because you left early when he asked you to.”

Sansa’s muscles tensed back up. Apparently Marge felt them. “Touchy subject?”

Sansa sighed and melted back into Marge’s touch. “No. Can you just…talk?”

“I am talking Ms. Stark,” Marge’s thumbs dug deeper into the shoulder blades. Sansa moaned again, feeling the release from her muscles. “There we go, that knot was a stubborn one.”

“I want to know more about you. And can you do the back next?” Sansa muttered.

Marge’s hands paused for a moment before coming off. Another warm squirt of oil covered Sansa’s mid back. “Ms. Stark, that’s not appropriate conversation between us.”

“I don’t need specific names. But I can’t stop seeing you as a servant paid to touch me and please me and I don’t want to see you as that and I know it makes me a horrible person because you’ve done so many kind things for me and none of this is your fault and I just really want to know who it is that I accidentally groped this morning,” Sansa blurted.

It was ruined. They had finally worked out some delicate balance and figured out a line. All their toeing from the day was useless. Because Sansa couldn’t keep her big mouth shut.

Then Marge’s fingers were rubbing circles again. “What would you like to know, Ms. Stark?”

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. She laid her head sideways on her arm. “What’s your family like?”

“I have three older brothers. I’m the youngest, so they all used to like to spoil. All except my youngest brother. I think that’s why I liked him the most. I love each of them to bits and would do anything for them, but my youngest brother just understood me the most. We have a special connection. Anyway, my  mother and father are the nicest people you’ll meet. Father can be a bit daft at times, but he was always the one pushing us to achieve everything we could. And mother is the definition of a lady. My grandmother moved in with them after my oldest brother moved out. She’s…imagine a cross between the Queen of England, a catholic headmistress and the irate director of a fledgling burlesque show and you have my grandmother.”

Sansa giggled at the image. “Sounds like a handful. Do they know about what you do?” She whimpered as Marge pressed down and cracked her back.

“My youngest brother does. Grandmother does, to an extent.”

The next question would be breaching the boundary of too personal, but Sansa had to at least try. “Why an escort?”

Marge remained silent as she continued to massage Sansa’s back, hands drifting ever lower, now down to her waist. Finally she said, “I was a political science student in college, a semester from graduating. My youngest brother made a bad financial deal which threatened to ruin the entire family. He had nothing he could do, short of robbing a bank. So I took the brunt for him. Dropped out of college and joined an escort agency. I made enough to get him onto a regular payment plan with men who screwed him over. Once he has it paid off, I’d like to go back and finish my degree, but I’m pretty sure any political career I would have had in public office is over.”

“How big of a deal was the bust?” Sansa asked.

“Six figures, sweetling. Between the two of us, we’ve worked it down to twenty thousand.”

Sansa bit her lip, becoming all too aware that Marge’s recoated hands were massaging her hips. A warm feeling, warmer than the oil, pooled in her gut. It wasn’t until then that she realized she was growing wet.

“Why did you have to pay when he was the one that screwed up?”

Marge’s hands skimmed back up her back. “As I told you Ms. Stark, I would do anything for my family. And I know each of them would do anything for me.”

Marge squeezed her sides as she trailed up and down the columns of Sansa’s back. “You feel so much looser Ms. Stark.” She inched forward and whispered in Sansa’s ear. “Is there anything else you would like me to massage? Something tight and in desperate need of release?”

Sansa gasped, her legs instinctively squeezed together. She could say yes. It would feel so good. That was Marge was here for anyway.

                Sansa shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m exhausted and I already feel a million times better after that massage. Let me hop in the shower to get this oil off and then I want to go to sleep.”

                Marge hummed. “As you wish, Ms. Stark.”

                Marge gathered her oils and went to the bedroom. Sansa sat up and adjusted the towel to cover her chest before gathering her pajamas and going to the shower. There, away from Marge’s knowing eyes, she finished the job. She hadn’t come in a shower since she was a teenager, but the smells and Marge’s voice tickling her ears and the strength of her hands kneading her muscles had been too much.

                All the lights were out, save for a lone lamp light in the bedroom. Sansa went in and cracked a smile. Marge was sprawled on her side, arms in awkward positions, fast asleep. Sansa got under the covers and turned out the light. She scooted back until she felt her back brush Marge’s hand. The touch was all she needed to feel at home.

                Right as she was about to fall asleep, Marge’s hand came up to rest on her waist over the top of the pajama shirt.


	4. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been over 6 months since I updated this fic and I'm not sure if this is worth the wait, but bottoms up guys.

                The Iron Bank had always been Stark Lumber’s largest investor. They were the first, helping Eddard Stark when he came to the bank for a loan with nothing more than a small company and decent credit. Eddard Stark had never walked away from them when it came time to re-up with a new loan. Sansa wasn’t her father.

                “Miss Stark, this is a fair market value offer. Some would even call it generous,” the banker rebutted. His thick rimmed glasses were beginning to fog. For such a nice hotel, one would think they’d be willing to promptly fix air conditioning when it went down. Alas, it had been out for the entire negotiation.

                “Fair Market Value? For a company developing green technology that will save thousands while expanding our clientele potential significantly in both the long term? For loyal business partners who have never failed to repay our debts?” Sansa scoffed.

                The man, Mr. Nestoris, shook his back and forth, never raising his head to look up from the projections report he brought with him. “We reap rewards of your “innovation” for years, if ever. Ms. Stark, be reasonable. You need the Iron Bank’s loans to run your little experiment as is.”

                “If you won’t put more money on the table, then reduce the interest rate and extend the payment terms,” Sansa circled the article that stated the Iron Bank would be the sole benefactor of Stark Lumber and any bank loan unapproved by the Iron Bank would be a violation of contract. Sansa had always hated the stipulation but was never in a position to do anything about it. Eddard reasoned that it built a strong foundation of loyalty between the two sides. Actually it did little for Stark Lumber. The Iron Bank, as the sole investor, had immense control over company decisions and policies. Their investments tended to cover the whole cost of the business (typically reaching into the millions) but it trapped Stark Lumber in what it could and could not do with the money invested.

                Mr. Nestoris’s face grew a shade redder. “Do you understand how these negotiations work, girl? You give to receive.”

                “I understand there are several investors here that would be honored to work with Stark Lumber and reap our benefits,” Sansa edged to the end of her chair. She’d had quite enough of the man’s condescension. Out of her periphery, Sansa noticed Marge quietly pack the spreadsheets and reports into her briefcase.

                “Out of reverence for your father, we’ll leave you time to reconsider our offer,” Mr. Nestoris snapped his fingers. His intern dashed over and stuffed the loose papers into a folder. “You won’t find a better offer. Nor will you find anyone quite as…patient as we are. Good day, Ms. Stark,” he left with the intern scrambling at his heels and barely avoiding being hit by shutting door on his way out.

                This was Sansa’s second investment meeting of the day. The first, a meeting with the son of a rich Dornish entrepenuer, went surprisingly well. The man had done his research on the lumber industry. He cited the same articles Stark researchers had used when the company determined to move into a more ecologically friendly direction. He couldn’t offer nearly the amount the Iron Bank could. A few more investors of like mind could render the Bank’s money needless though.

                There were three hours between the end of the meeting and her next meeting. A quick phone call led her and Marge back to the hotel, affording Sansa time to plan her next move. Eddard would be expecting an update on their partnership deals. Losing Stag Baratheon as partners might be a welcome change. Reupping their partnerships with Greyjoy shipping and Sunspear Textiles was practically a done deal, one that would generate a good profit margin increase. His primary goal of the summit had been to negotiate with another new client. Their relations with Bear-back Construction, Troutmouth Fishing, and Horseland Stables were solid, but none of them were moving in the green direction the company was moving. They needed one more ecologically friendly partnership to cement their new standard.

                Upon entering the hotel room Sansa unlatched a brief case and snatched a legal pad out. She took a seat at the table and diagramed potential new clients. Three companies stood out. Each were start-ups with little financial power of their own. However in their respective fields they had made waves for their inclination to cleaner technology. All of them had a need for lumber too. A client deal could give Stark Lumber more sway in their business decisions.

                It wasn’t shocking that Sansa only reached Eddard’s receptionist at this time of the day. He never liked to be interrupted when filling out new company safety regulations. She asked Dolores to leave him a message to call her back this evening.

                Distracted as she was by the phone call and thoughts of home, Sansa missed Marge calling room service and the knock on the door. Lunch had slipped her mind until she smelled fresh toasted bread and sweet fruits Marge set out around the table. The sandwich in front of her was loaded with chicken, Colby cheese, lettuce and a plethora of other veggies. Marge noticed Sansa’s gaze on her as she finished pouring their glasses of water. She placed Sansa’s glass in front of her and smiled. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so there’s a couple different sandwiches on the platter. Or if you want another, I made sure to get extra.”

                “Thanks. This is perfect actually. Thank you,” Sansa grinned back.

Marge nodded her enthusiasm and sat beside her client. They ate their meals in comfortable silence. Sips of water and the occasional crunch of an apple skin fit perfectly into the gaps.

In the silence Sansa further analyzed the risk she was considering. There were plenty of cons she hadn’t considered earlier. What if there were no other willing investors? She could run the business into the ground. Absentmindedly she stopped eating and watched Marge eat. It didn’t take long for Marge to notice. She tilted her head and smirked, “There’s trouble brewing in that brain of yours.”

A new perspective. That’s what Sansa needed. And it was right in front of her, staring at her point blank with the most adorable confidence. She could go in circles discussing business matters with her father and anyone at headquarters, each arguing the same points, merits and flaws. Each familiar with how the business worked and their history with Stark Lumber.

Marge had none of that. Yet she was intelligent, eloquent and a brilliant politician from what Sansa had gathered in their 48 hours together. An outside opinion was a luxury few businesses had.

“What did you think?” Sansa asked, forgetting context existed or mattered in conversation.

“Excuse me?” the question seemed to catch Marge off guard.

Sansa shook her head, internally berating herself for being so awkward, “Sorry, I meant the meeting with the Iron Bank. What did you think?”

                “I’m sorry, Ms. Stark, but I’m not sure I can give you the insight you’re looking for,” Marge drank from her glass.

                Sansa unthinkingly reached across the gap between herself and Marge and pressed her palm over the top of Marge’s hand. “If I thought you couldn’t give me an opinion of value, I wouldn’t have asked. I trust your intuition. I want your opinion, politics, business and whatever else you have to say of the Iron Bank. What would you do?”

                Marge paused, staring down at her hand trapped beneath Sansa’s, though Sansa didn’t register the implications. She stared straight back at Marge, eager for what she had to say.

                “The Iron Bank…is very powerful,” she finally started. “Surely I don’t need to preach to you about their vast influence in politics and business alike?” Marge paused for a beat then continued. “If this goes poorly they could have you run over, ruined, and then buy out Stark Lumber simply because they could. They’ve dragged down companies and politicians less vulnerable than Stark Lumber. Don’t buy into the sweet talk that the give a damn about their relationship with your company.”

                “The sooner you can get out from under their thumb, the better. Ms. Stark, it’s a risk that you’re taking. One that really should have been better planned for with several more investors already lined up, but Stark Lumber can overcome those failures in foresight. Secure at least two more investors today. I’ve seen time and time again throughout history that investors are fickle creature, the Iron Bank the most fickle of all. One scandal, one disagreement and you’re dumped with a massive debt.”

                “And if they match what I ask for?” Sansa popped another grape into her mouth.

                Marge traced her finger around the rim of the glass. “You know the Iron Bank better than I do. Would they do that?”

                Sansa didn’t answer.

                Marge went on. “Let me try putting it this way. If you had the option of living in shelter, otherwise defenseless with your captor threatening target practice on you daily or escaping into the wild, unsure of what lay out there but prepared with fire, some weapons and water to get you by into you figured your way, which would you take? Stark Lumber is the talk of the convention. People want you to succeed and they want to be in on the profit. If you sever ways with the Iron Bank, now would be the time.”

                “It won’t be easy to convince some of these investors. They have more to lose than the Iron Bank,” Sansa acknowledged.

                Marge’s confident smirk returned. “What luck you have such a savvy, attractive, young assistant who just so happens to be skilled in the art of persuasion.”

                Sansa scoffed. “You realize you’re older than me, right?”

                Marge dragged her hand out from beneath Sansa’s. She got out of her chair, stepped mere inches away from Sansa, pressed her palms firmly against the table. Her hair fell neatly beside her face. If Sansa wanted to she could easily kiss Marge. And she wanted to. That cocky smirk would be gone, replaced by her lips pressed hotly against Sansa’s. She wondered what Marge’s curves would feel like against her abdominal, if her hands could trace them all over again and again and if Marge would squirm or laugh or take control.

                She couldn’t afford to think like that. Marge wasn’t…it was too dangerous. A paid escort. As long as Sansa reminded herself of the boundaries between them, she could reign in her thoughts and desires.

                “I’m not much older sweetling. I think you want someone with a little more experience,” Marge licked her lips. The movement was deliberate. She was trying to arouse Sansa and tease her.

To her credit, Sansa knew when to draw back. Literally. She scooted her chair back from the table. “Thank you for your input Marge. It was very insightful. I appreciate your flexibility in job repsonsibilities.” She wondered if her cringe was visible to Marge or just one she felt inside. She sounded like a robot: inhumane and odd.

She should have chosen better phrasing as well. Never one to miss an opportunity, Marge plunged right into the trap Sansa set for herself. “You’ll find I can be very flexible, Ms. Stark. I love showing it off.” She winked at Sansa, leaving her client frozen as she skipped to take her things back to the silver tray left by room service. “We shouldn’t dally. Your next meeting starts in an hour. I’m sure you’ve been told never be late for a seduction.”

……..

The meeting was promising, but no tangible commitments were made. She’d have to work Cerwyn a little more to budge the old man to dig into his pockets.

After dipping in on a few conference calls to check on the budget for retraining and educating employees on the new eco-friendly technology Robb was working on implementing,   she and Marge met with Yara for coffee and to compare notes the summit. Greyjoy shipping was already in their back pocket, but Sansa had always been fond of Yara’s unique perspective. She’d grown up working the docks with her little brother. Theon had left the dinky family business the first chance he got, but Yara rose up the ranks. Eventually she earned enough money through separate ventures to buy the company from her father.

Stark Lumber Inc had never been partners with Greyjoy Shipping while Balon ran the company. Yara, however, was more amiable to working a deal that worked for both sides. She also didn’t hold the personal vendetta Balon had imagined.

Drinks with Yara, alcoholic or otherwise, usually involved tails of her sailing the seas. She’d spin stories of these new lands. As wild as they could turn, Sansa never doubted their veracity.

After the first cup Yara resorted to tails Sansa had heard several times at other meetings. Her interest wasn’t in the stories though.

In spite of her attempts to stay occupied with anything and everything else, her eyes kept wandering back to Marge. The curve of her lips when Yara’s story turned humorous. The airy laugh that belted too loudly in the quiet coffee shop. At particularly gross point of Yara’s tale, Marge’s nose crinkled in disgust. Sansa couldn’t have held back the dopey grin on her face had she even been aware it was there.

“This one’s your first assistant, right Sansa?” Yara cocked her head. Her elbow rest straight up on the table to hold her mug of black coffee. Sansa nodded. Yara cut her eyes back to Marge. Marge didn’t flinch. She was used to this interrogation. Finally Yara relaxed her arm to place the mug down. “She won’t be for long. Promote her and give her a raise. I won’t be the only one swooping in to snatch her if you don’t.”

The wind chimes hanging above the coffeehouse door rang when the door opened.

“Exhibit A,” Yara muttered under her breath.

Simultaneously Sansa twisted around in her chair and Marge turned her head to the left. Petyr Baelish, briefcase in hand and standing small in a dark brown suit, slithered in. He scanned the whole room until his eyes lit up upon glimpsing Sansa.

“Ms. Stark, Ms. Greyjoy, Ms…” Petyr hesitated when he reached Marge. To anyone else it would have seemed like genuine confusion as to Marge’s name. Sansa knew him too well. Years of business meetings and “friendly” dinners even as a child taught her he was fishing for information. He wanted her last name.

“Marge, I’m such a ditz. I meant to order a coffee for our driver. Could you call him and see what he would like and give his order to the barista?” Sansa asked.

Marge curtly nodded, no questions. She didn’t spare a glance to Petyr as she shimmied past the chair he’d snagged from the table next to theirs, sticking out in the middle of the walk way.

He sat perfectly straight, hands folded neatly in his lap waiting for Sansa and Yara to resume their conversation. Sansa wouldn’t give him that benefit. Just as he wouldn’t give her the benefit of not harassing her any chance he had.

Perhaps he sensed that Marge was a threat to him. If anyone were to suspect, it would be Baelish. He knew her too well, knew the company too well. There were two things he was attracted to: power and Tully women. It was Sansa’s unfortunate curse to have the trademark Tully hair. Too often he reminded her that she looked exactly like her mother.

Distracting him was critical to her self-interests as well as Marge. She couldn’t completely phase out Baelish. Even with the Iron Bank in the fold, he was a key investor in the company. She could deal with him a few times a year, keep him at a distance whenever possible. He would use Marge’s truth to blackmail Sansa.

Or worse, he might hurt Marge. Not physically. That wasn’t how Baelish operated. But Marge had a degree, her brother and his finances all to contend with. If it would bring him more power and force Sansa to bend to his advances, he wouldn’t hesitate on spilling whatever he could learn about her. Her future would be dead in the water and there was no telling how that would impact her brother’s loan situation.

It was up to her to protect their joint secret. At least until Marge was long gone. By then she could find a way to even the decks with Petyr.

“Petyr how are the stocks going?” Yara finally broke the silence.

“Marvelous. You’d think they’d eventually stumble a step, but they keep climbing higher and higher. Especially my share in Stag. Though I believe it’ll be time to sell soon. Word has it there’s strife amongst the Baratheons now that they’ve lost a key resource manufacturer. Unless, of course, Stark Lumber would be willing to let bygones be bygones and work again with men that hold their family business in such high regard,” Baelish clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Yes, such a shame Joffrey can’t keep one of the top 50 companies in the country financially viable. It was time for Stark Lumber to shed the dead weight,” Sansa said.

“About damn time,” Yara added. She checked her watch. “Shit. Time to head out. I’ve got two-hundred bloody pages of Lys shipping regulations to review with the lawyer since their new laws passed. See you tonight, Stark?”

“Perhaps at the seminar. Goodbye Yara,” Sansa said.

“Goodbye Baelish,” Yara left her chair out.

“Plans after the seminar?” Petyr scooted his chair closer now that Yara was gone.

“Well I wouldn’t want to attend our meeting tomorrow unprepared, Mr. Baelish. As a valued investor in Stark Lumber, I only want to assure you an unparalleled partnership,” Sansa responded. As she finished her sentence, Marge returned with a Styrofoam coffee cup for Dickon and a pastry wrapped neat as a present in napkins.

“That’s the point of having an assistant. I know you Starks aren’t used to such business formalities, but I assure you Marge can handle finding our old contract and creating a new copy. It doesn’t take rocket science,” Petyr grinned.

The worry Sansa felt must have shown somewhere in her face because barely a moment passed before Marge piped in. “The last thing Ms. Stark wants is to spend one more undue second with me pestering her. Unfortunately I’m just not familiar with some of these rising companies Ms. Stark as been negotiating with. It’s my fault. I should have come more prepared.”

“We wouldn’t want your money to go to waste should poor Marge screw up my contract wording, would we?” Sansa asked.

Petyr scrutinized Marge’s face. “Next time, perhaps the money would be better spent on a second assistant,” he mused.

Marge rolled her eyes behind his back as he turned to Sansa. Sansa cracked a hint of a smile at the moment of expression, one that Marge didn’t miss. As Petyr began unraveling some story that Sansa wasn’t paying attention to, Marge stuck at her tongue from behind his back. She smiled wider. Either out pure vanity or out of the belief that Sansa truly found his story funny.

He was wrapping up the story that Sansa couldn’t tell you at all what the purpose was just as Marge’s phone buzzed. “Ms. Stark it appears your driver has returned. Should we be off or should I tell him to loop around once more?”

Sansa silently thanked the gods for the viable excuse to leave. “We’d better be going.” Before Petyr could argue, Sansa turned her attention to him. “We’ll see you tonight Petyr, right?”

Baelish hesitated. “Perhaps. I’ve a meeting with a lawyer this evening and I can’t say how late it will run. I do hope you’ll stick around after  ward though so we can continue our enthralling conversation.”

Sansa smiled, but it didn’t quite sell. “We’ll try, Mr. Baelish.”

Marge led the way out of the coffee shop to where the limo was stalling out front. She rounded the front of the limo and tapped on the window. Sansa climbed into the backseat.

“Delivery for Dickon,” Marge grinned, handing him the cup through the rolled down window.

Dickon twisted around in his seat and toasted the cup in Sansa’s direction. “Thank you, Sansa. It’s nice to know someone cares for the little people.”

“My pleasure. It’s the least I can do for your excellent driving,” Sansa returned his smile.

Marge got in the car on the other side. “I see why you can’t stand him. The man is just creepy. He gives me chills.”

Sansa turned her head to agree with Marge, but at the exact moment she did, a beam of sun light wrapped the woman’s face in a golden halo. She looked impeccable from her high cheek bones to her distinct chin. The moment fled quickly enough, but left Sansa in a daze.

Not that Marge noticed. “You’ve known him how long? Since you were a girl? It’s obvious he’s into you. Can’t blame him really, but the blatancy of it is disgusting. You want my opinion on your investors? Ditch Baelish the moment you can. He’s got scandal scrawled on every surface of his body. It’s just a matter of time before one bomb falls, then the rest will.”

“Sometimes it’s better the devil you know, right? I’m already taking a chance in playing chicken with the Iron Bank. I may not like it, but I know how Baelish’s mind works. It’s lecherous and power hungry, but he won’t make a move that endangers his bank account. That includes his…unreciprocated interests,” Sansa reasoned.

That much was true. No one in Stark Lumber particularly liked Petyr. He stayed kept his share through craftiness and intelligence. Without Petyr’s input, unwanted as it was at the time, Stark Lumber likely wouldn’t be trending toward long term profits at the rate it was.

“You know him better than I do,” Marge relented.

Sansa glanced up. In the mirror she caught Dickon’s gaze on Marge with more concern in those deep green irises than felt necessary.

“How often do you go on trips like this?” Marge asked. Her whole body had turned toward Sansa underneath her seat belt.

“Business conferences? A few a year. I used to go on some with my father when I was younger, as VP for the last couple years, I tend to come alone or with my brother,” Sansa crossed her legs.

Marge tilted her head. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes,” Sansa admitted. “Typically I’m so busy with work it scarcely makes a difference, but yeah, it can be lonely.”

Marge paused before responding. “I think I’d be lonely too.”

It felt like there was more below the surface, but Dickon slammed on the breaks, sending Marge shoulder first into the driver’s seat.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Had less space than I thought.”

“It’s alright, darling,” Marge brushed herself off. She leaned down and picked up Sansa’s brief case. “Shall we go in, Ms. Stark?”

They never saw Petyr at the seminar. The keynote speaker drolled on far longer than Sansa thought possible on corporate law and employee management—not Sansa’s field of expertise in the company.

She wrote the first note on a whim, out of boredom. She almost felt bad for allowing herself distraction when Marge was working so diligently to write notes that Sansa would never read. Sansa discreetly slid the note, a simple acknowledgement of how the man repeated himself every thirty seconds, over Marge’s paper.

She didn’t expect a response but received one a minute later of a doodle of herself nodding off. Note after note went back and forth like two teenage girls in a study hall. Sansa somehow managed to keep herself from breaking out in giggles for the whole hour.

 As the rest of the crowd shoved each other out, Marge and Sansa stayed behind. To anyone else they might have been furiously writing notes and memos. No one would have guessed the childish doodles and comments they were leaving each other instead.

By the time they noticed the lack of monotonous droning, the auditorium had emptied. There was no haste as the gathered there things, Sansa gallantly stepping aside for Marge to step past her. The gesture earned Sansa a dazzling smile. She felt herself leaning too close to Marge. Her fingertips brushed against Marge’s as they walked through the relatively thin crowd. Even after hours of working, her lilac perfume still wafted to anyone in a proper vicinity. Sansa wanted closer until there was no gap of air between them.

Happenstance would have it that Marge slowed a step behind Sansa when they walked into the hallway.

“Sansa!” Arianne Martell called. She waved at Sansa through the throng of passersby. “Come here Sansa!”

“Marge, I’ll be right-” Sansa had started, but when she glanced back Marge was already in another conversation with an elder man Sansa didn’t recognize.

“Did you and that assistant of yours copy the whole seminar plus stage directions?” Arianne’s younger brother Quentyn joked.

“Please. I had her doing calculations for how many lay-offs we need to create room for new jobs,” Sansa lied. Even thought she actually needed to check over said calculations when accounting for the budget after meeting with Baelish tomorrow.

                Crap that was tomorrow. She wasn’t even sure what time they ad scheduled, but negotiations with Baelish were rarely described as fun, and involved little actual negotiation. Because of their long history, he tended to be more curious about the innerworkings of the business and of the Stark personal lives. It used to be her father and mother he asked most about. Now, with his peaked curiosity in Marge, Sansa knew exactly where the conversation would go.

                “Did she do them wrong?” Arianne asked, misinterpreting Sansa’s annoyed face for frustration with her assistant.

                “What? Oh, no. I just remembered how much work I have waiting for me at the hotel. So much work. And Eddard should be calling me back,” Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose, selling her lie as best she could.

                Whether Arianne bought it, she didn’t know. But she let her off the hook, “So a raincheck on networking drinks tonight?”

                “Unfortunately,” Sansa said.

                Arianne grasped Sansa around the arm before she could scurry off, “Don’t overwork your poor assistant. It’s the best way to have them conspire against you.” Her smile told Sansa she wasn’t serious.

                Sansa gathered Marge and they went to find the limo.

                “You’ve got a meeting with Fishing by the Sea tomorrow?” Marge informed her.

                “Who?” Sansa had never heard of the company before.

                “While you were off with Arianne, I was chatting up Mr. Davos Seaworth, the owner of a small fishery. He needs a supplier for wood for his boat and wants to discuss a contract, so I set up a meeting.”

                “I don’t—“, Sansa started.

                “Don’t,” Marge stopped her. “More customers mean less need for investors right?”

                She had no right to get involved in company affairs. Marge was not an actual assistant. But she seemed to care for Sansa on some level. It was clear Marge was well meaning, if over excited. And Sansa didn’t want to push away the woman who fascinated her.

                Outside the car, Sansa stopped. “Marge, you shouldn’t have done that. I understand you’re trying to help, but I know nothing about this Davos or his business. I’ll take the meeting because I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I can’t have you running all over the place making business decisions, you’re not fit to make.”

                Marge hesitated before getting in the car, Sansa following after her.

                “My apologies, Ms. Stark. I overstepped my boundaries. Do you see fit to punish me?” Anyone not intently listening to the conversation (like Dickon, who was bobbing his head to the radio) would pass the comment as natural conversation. Anyone not looking anywhere but Marge’s mischievous eyes would believe it was an innocent word choice.

                Sansa had neither of those benefits. The coil in her gut was instinctive. Her heart fluttered, her head filling with vague imaginations that truly had nothing to do with punishment. She had not interest in that sort of relationship; it wasn’t her thing. But Marge’s teasing? More alluring then Sansa could have imagined.

                Of course, she couldn’t give in to the little game. Definitely not here. Even not responding didn’t perturb Marge, whose knowing glance attested to the ease with which she read Sansa.

                She brushed off the comment and ordered Dickon to drive back to the hotel. “I need to check my voicemail and review my notes for tomorrow’s meetings.”

                “Do you mind if I go for a few drinks after I drop you off then, Sansa?” Dickon asked.

                “I see no reason why not,” Sansa permitted.

                Dickon glanced into the rear mirror. “Are you going to come Marge? Play wing woman for me?”

                “No!” Sansa nearly shouted, surprising everyone, including herself. It was selfish and petty, especially when Sansa had drawn strict lines for her desires. Those lines faded and blurred the more time Sansa spent with Marge. “Marge needs to help me…call the lawyers!”

                “Okay then…Party of one I guess,” Dickon shrugged.

                “The lawyers? What ever for?” Marge lowered her voice to where Dickon couldn’t hear. She didn’t buy a word Sansa said of course. The lie may have been more believable had Sansa not made a demonstration of handling all communications between herself and the lawyers she faxed contracts to between meetings this morning.

                “Business,” Sansa raised an eyebrow challenging Marge to call her out.

                Marge sat back smirked. “You should have said so earlier Miss Stark. I’m happy to oblige.”

                The pair left bid Dickon a good night in front of the hotel. The doorman greeted them in. Sansa once more took a slight lead ahead of Marge, which mounted to nothing while they waited for the elevator.

                Sansa opened her mouth to talk. The addition of another passenger on their ride up halted Sansa’s intentions. The gentleman smashed the button for the floor just below theirs. His impatient foot tapping prolonged the beats between the dings indicating another floor.

                Another person, a maid this time, came on as the man got off. She eyed Sansa wearily, but didn’t speak. She took off in the opposite direction of Sansa and Marge.

                “Marge?” Sansa finally got out.

                “Yes, Miss Stark?” Marge replied.

                “You’re not upset that I wouldn’t let you go with Dickon are you?” Sansa unlocked the door to the room.

                Marge smiled at her as she walked past. “Of course not,” she placed her jacket on the coat hangers next to the unreasonably large closet. “My job is to serve you. I am yours to do with as you please whenever and where ever you deem fit.”

                Sansa followed her in. She set walked past Marge setting down the brief case, grabbed fresh clothes from her suitcase and changed in the bathroom. She cleaned the make up off her face. Her face was red, each of her blemishes revealed. The thought occurred to her that she didn’t want Marge to see her like this, then she remembered Marge had already seen her just like this.

                She couldn’t take this back and forth in her head. Part of her wanted to push Marge as far away as possible. Maintaining a strictly platonic, business relationship for the next few days would save her from any embarrassment. The more she learned about Marge, her ideas, how her brain worked, the more she craved each new detail.

                Then there was the part of her that wanted Marge. That was her part of her job after all, to make Sansa want her. Want to touch her, to see her and to have her to touch Sansa. With work to distract her, Sansa repressed her attraction easily. Now there was no distraction. Just Marge and a load of bs Sansa said to keep her by her side.

                She was no where near finished sorting out her emotions, she couldn’t sit in the bathroom staring at herself all night. She smacked her hands down against the sink counter with a false signal of finality. Clothes gathered under one arm, she finally took the plunge to return to her escort.

                Marge sat at the table over a small stack of paperwork. Sansa dropped off her old clothes in the bedroom before sitting beside Marge. The last contract the company had negotiated with Petyr Baelish laid in front of Marge, an official account of his business dealings were in miniscule print on Marge’s phone as she scribbled down notes.

                “I wasn’t sure if you preferred red or white, so I ordered both,” Marge gestured toward the middle of the table. Somehow Sansa had missed the two rather large bottles of Riesling and Cabernet Sauvignon.

                “We don’t actually have to review any contracts tonight,” Sansa pours herself a glass of white wine, then a glass for Marge. “You know that was just an excuse.”

                Marge set aside the stack. She took the glass from Sansa and sipped. “I wanted to make sure I was well acquainted with Mr. Baelish’s assets should he prove problematic tomorrow. Would you like to join me on the couch? We can chat if you’d like.”

                Sansa softly smiled at her own glass, “I would like that.”

                There was plenty of room on the couch, but both women chose to sit in the middle, minimizing the space. Sansa finished her wine quickly. Margaery had brought the bottle with her and poured Sansa’s glass until it was half full again.

                “What do you like to do for fun, Ms. Stark?” Marge asked.

                Sansa hunched forward over her knees. “Well…I love stories. A good tv show, a good book. As long as it has a good plot and some romance, I’m a sucker.”

                “Contemporary or the classics?” Marge licked a drop of wine from her lips. Sansa lost her concentration for just a moment, succumbing to the temptation of her imagination.

                “I’m a sucker for classic novels, but I love tv shows that give modern twists,” Sansa said.

                “Yeah? What’s your favorite?”

                Sansa leaned back. “Hmmm… When I was younger it was Florian and Jonquil. But now…now I’d have to say The Queen’s Right.”

                “The Queen’s Right? The one about the Queen of the Andals and her handmaiden?” Marge turned her whole body toward Sansa, scooting close enough for their knees to touch. She twirled a strand of Sansa’s hair lazily around her finger, untwining it when Sansa responded with an affirmative hum.

                “I adored that book when I was first accepted to university,” Marge mused. “Not for the sex so much as the politics though. Queen Eurydia may have been the nominal ruler, but I admired the way Lord Berkshire maneuvered in court. I mean, that tact he used to convince the queen to implement his war strategy instead of General Amarya’s was genius. The Queen’s ability to hold on to power and avoid scandal was rather impressive, if a bit unbelievable.”

                “What do you want to do in politics?” Sansa gently grasped Marge’s wrist. She lowered it back into Marge’s lap.

                Marge raised her eyebrows. “That’s hardly relevant, Ms. Stark.”

                But Sansa wanted to know. She gave Marge the puppy eyes that worked so well on her older brothers. Once again, they worked their magic.

                “I had a plan,” Marge said. “An internship in a senator’s office, a term or two as mayor, a couple terms in senate, become a cabinet member, all the way up to chairing the Senate.”

                “You could still-”

                “I believe we were discussing the Queen’s Right,” Marge redirected the topic.

                Sansa loathed diversions. Petyr used them to get his way frequently, as did Joffrey when it suited him. She had to respect Marge’s privacy though. They were not friends. Sansa had no right to Marge’s inner thoughts beyond what she voluntarily shared despite how much she sought to dig deeper.

                “Tell me, Ms. Stark, do you relate more to the Queen or her handmaiden?” She’d turned the tables so effortlessly. Where Marge’s touches had been light and playful a moment before they were now deliberately teasing. The switch was maddening and delicious at once.

                “The Queen,” she muttered.

                Marge smirked. “Of course.”

                “Marge,” Sansa stared into Marge’s hypnotizing blue eyes.

                “Yes, Ms. Stark,” Marge caressed her thumb against the base of Sansa’s jaw.

                Sansa swallowed even though her mouth was growing dry. “I-I.”

                Marge slid into her lap, straddling her legs. “You, you,” she smirked. “Use your words, Ms. Stark. You do handle them so well when you want to. Are you the Queen or the handmaiden?”

                Her words sparked a flint within Sansa. Something buried deep. Partially out of annoyance that the woman always seemed to have the upperhand, partially out of desire, Sansa grabbed Marge’s hips and squeezed, tugging her flush against her body. “You are infuriating, you know that?”

                “How so?” Marge wrapped her arms around Sansa’s neck, fingertips twirling a long strand of hair behind her head.

                The ways to answer her question were countless. The teasing, the helpfulness, the sweetness, the intellect, the dresses, the wit, the suave. That was just the surface.

                As Sansa debated what to do, Marge shifted her hips.

                “Fuck,” Sansa groaned. She blindly reached behind Marge for the wine glass on the table. “I’m going to need this to say what I’m about to say,” she said when she finally felt the rim of the glass. She tossed back the remainder which left a bitter taste in her mouth. “I change my mind. I want to explore the full expanse of our contractual agreement.”

                Marge tilted her head straight up, chuckling. “You are the Queen. The handmaiden never would have sought such high stakes drama.” Marge climbed off Sansa’s lap. She started toward the bed room, leaving behind a very confused vice president. At the doorway, palm pressed against the frame, Marge looked back. “Aren’t you coming Ms. Stark. I can hardly pleasure you from a separate room.”

                This shouldn’t be happening. Every tingling nerve reminds her she holds the balance of power. One word and Marge would willingly sleep on the couch. Sansa would be left to her own devices and her imagination, but wouldn’t cross the line that tempted her. Yet her feet still carried her to the bedroom.

                The lamp lights set on low. The dress Marge had been wearing lay in a pool at the foot of the bed. Sansa stepped over it, perching herself at the end of the bed. She watched Marge dig through her dufflebag. In only a matching lacy bra and tight bikini Marge was every bit the temptation Sansa had been trying to avoid.

                When Marge had been in the shower yesterday, Sansa had minimized the amount of skin she allowed herself to see. She hadn’t been able to see the freckles on Marge’s back, the small scar on her thigh. Sansa allowed herself to drink in every detail of Marge’s revealed body. Her muscles were lean, but more toned than Sansa had expected, particularly her legs.

                Sansa was so caught up in analyzing her partner’s appearance, she hadn’t noticed Marge approached her with a small tiara in her hand. Marge straddled her thighs, scooting close. She gently placed the tiara on top of Sansa’s head.

                “Why do you have a tiara?” Sansa asked. With Marge in her lap and on her knees, their eyes were on the same level.

                “Clients enjoy role playing royalty one way or another,” Marge grinned. “What would you like me to do, your majesty?”

                Sansa straightened her back to sit tall over Marge, regal like Eurydice. “Take off you bra.”

                Marge reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. She shimmied it down her shoulders and let if fall into Sansa’s lap. Because she couldn’t resist learning if they felt as soft as they looked, Sansa cupped a breast and squeezed, then did the same with the other. She brushed her thumb across the nipple. It puckered at her and hardened as she continued her ministrations.

                After an ungraceful whimper, Marge caught Sansa’s hand and lowered it. “Enough of that. My queen is wearing entirely too many clothes.”

                Sansa pouted when she slid off her lap and started pulling off Sansa’s clothes. She worked her way from Sansa’s torso her legs, leaving the tiara firmly in place on top of her head. Her hands grafted paths down Sansa’s abdomen and thighs. Each time Sansa glanced down, she was met with a cocky smirk. When she was down to nothing but her underwear, she couldn’t stifle a giggle.

                Marge’s lips curved into a full blown smile. “Is something funny, your majesty?”

                “I can’t take this seriously,” Sansa gestured between them.

                “Let me tell you a secret,” Marge scooted closer and nestled her head on Sansa’s shoulder. “It’s not serious.” With little more than a nudge, Marge had Sansa’s shoulder’s pinned back on the bed. Her brown tresses tickle Sansa’s cheeks like a curtain, narrowing her focus solely on Marge.

                Marge’s thumb circled Sansa’s nipple while her other hand supported her weight over Sansa. She couldn’t resist looking down. When strained tight, Sansa could see Marge’s abdominal muscles flex. Her thighs involuntarily flinched together in response to the thoughts running through her brain.

                Not kissing Marge was even more difficult than she had anticipated. Her hands had freedom to roam all over, to touch Marge anywhere. She gladly took advantage of that right, scratching Marge’s back, massaging her breast just as Marge was doing to her. As Marge shifted downward with her teases and touches, Sansa had more headspace to overthink what was happening. If she flipped them over, Sansa could easily kiss Marge and satisfy her desire to know how the woman’s lips tasted, and felt. Whether there was as much chemistry in one kiss as there was in these heated touches.

                When Marge was face-to-tit, Sansa finally felt her lips on her. Her nails dug into Marge’s back when Marge lapped at her nipple. The moan coming from her mouth was wanton and whiny but she was too far gone to care. Marge’s grinned again with her lips around her nipple while she sucked. Her fingers hooked around Sansa’s underwear. Desperate to press her lips against something, Sansa bit her lip. For good measure, she squeezed Marge’s ass. The surprised squeak created more pressure around Sansa’s nipple. It felt like an electric current humming from her chest down to crotch.

                Somehow she managed to not whine when Marge released her nipple with a pop. “There’s the Queen I’ve been looking for. What would you have me do now?”

                Sansa braced herself on her elbows. She spread her thighs a little wider. “Finish undressing-”

                Mid-sentence Sansa realized her phone was ringing. Any other ring tone she would ignore, but only one person had the chiming bells ring tone.

                Needless as getting dressed as for a phone call, Sansa still slid out from underneath Marge and pulled her underwear back up, tossed a random shirt over her head and hobbled around in the nearest jeans so she could race to answer her phone before the last ring.

                “Hi dad!” she was out of breath when she answered.

                “Sansa, are you alright?” Eddard asked. “Have you been working out?”

                “What?” she asked, then realized how she must sound to him. “Oh, yeah. You know, late night jog to get out all the stress.”

                “Okay. Don’t pull any muscles on those hills. I did once and the health system in Harrenhal is miserable. Anyway, I’m sorry I missed your call earlier. I was on  conference call and then your mother dragged me to dinner and some movie marathon. You know, I just don’t understand what she sees in James Bond…the man is a boring prick,” he complained.

                “I’ll keep that in mind,” she sat down.

                “Now, what did you want to discuss?”

                “Oh, right,” Sansa explained her idea of breaking with the Iron Bank and taking on more investments while negotiating with more start ups. “I’m not sure it would work, or if they’d even be interested. What do you think?”

                Eddard’s end was quiet for a moment. “Do you know how much of our investment comes from the Iron Bank?”

                The dig at her knowledge of company funds, whether intentional or not, stung. She wasn’t some newb breaking into the company, yet her father still talked down to her in such matters. “I’m well aware. As I’m well aware that we have several investors that would be glad to fill the void left by the Bank and enough start-ups that want our lumber that could negotiate us to have enough revenue to minimize the investment we need.”

                “Don’t be rash with them. Investors are all talk and big wallets until the time comes to pay,” he warned.

                Sansa stayed quiet on her end of the phone. He was belittling her. She knew the game these big spenders played. Most of them she knew from when she was a child. They all underestimated her, even her own father.

                “I know what I’m doing,” she finally said. This was her deal to close. She’d do it her way. “I should let you go. There’s a few notes I need to review before meeting with Petyr tomorrow and the I’m heading to bed.”

                “Case and point,” Eddard muttered. Of all his associates, he trusted Petyr the least. Still, the man always raked in profit.

                “Goodnight dad.”

                Her thumb hovered over the hang up button when her father stopped her, “Don’t lock yourself in your room the whole trip. It’s business, but business doesn’t have to be miserable. Go find yourself a nice person to chat with. You never know where it will lead. Love you, Sansa.”

                “I love you too dad,” Sansa hung up.

                Remembering what awaited her in the bedroom, Sansa’s adrenaline jolted her veins. Her body had been ready when she’d left, so it didn’t take much for her arousal to return.

                Unfortunately, Marge wasn’t in the same state. She lay face down on the bed, hair covering her face. Sansa checked the clock. Her phone call had lasted longer than she’d realized, almost an hour. She didn’t blame the woman for nodding off.

                The clothes strewn across the floor found their way into a neat pile. Sansa fixed the alarm on her phone and set it aside. When she pulled a sheet up for Marge, she woke the other woman.

                “Mmmm, shit. I’m ready, I’m ready. Just give me a moment,” Marge pushed herself up.

                Sansa pressed her hand against Marge’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep. It’s late.”

                “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you unsatisfied,” Marge let the sheet fall off her chest, exposing her still bare chest.

                “I’m sure. I need a good rest before meeting handling tomorrow.” Pure instinct led her to kiss Marge’s forehead. Her fingers played with the curls of Marge’s hair. Saying no could be a huge mistake. It could be the best choice she’d ever made. Either way this business trip had been far more than Sansa had bargained for.   

               

                               

               

               

               

                               

               

               

                 

               

                 

               

 

 

 

 


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